Peter's Recipe
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: Rants --basically. Not episode related.


**FRINGE**

**Peter's Recipe**

_Fringe doesn't belong to me. I'm just playing with the characters and I promise I will put them back in their box when I'm finished.  
_Note: Rants --basically. Not episode related.  
_I can't wait to have your feedback on this one!!_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She left them at the front door of their hotel and immediately went back to her car. She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and speed-dialled Charlie. Walter waved at her back and forgot instantly her presence.

"May I have an ice-cream cone?" he asked. He pushed the glass door open and gazed expectantly at his son.

"An ice-cream cone?" Peter smiled. He placed his hand on the door to keep it open. That was a new one. It was chilly, way under 32°F but still he wanted ice cream.

"Of course Walter you may. But instead wouldn't you prefer frozen custard? Vanilla-pecan?"

"Yes, yes. Brilliant idea. Fudge-watermelon, err… – no, no, no… Chocolate-lime."

"Chocolate-lime? You sure?" Peter scoffed. "What about huh… Pineapple-mint?" he teased him.

"Yes, yes," Walter was positively beaming at the impossible combination, "and clam chowder. Hot, hot chowder," he grinned.

"How am I supposed to find you clam chowder, Walter?" Peter glanced back outside. She was still there. He had to hurry.

"Hot chowder," his father repeated with his finger raised and a childish look of expectation on his face.

"I bet you want it hot. Can you go to our room by yourself now and let me handle your order? Will you be ok? Can you please do this for me Walter?"

Walter Bishop heard concern in his son's voice and nodded obediently. Peter gave him a gentle nudge and shut the door behind him. With a last glance backward to Olivia standing near her car and Peter walking outside, Professor Bishop trotted towards the elevator with an expression of total bliss on his face but U-turned abruptly half way through the lobby.

"Peter?" a tentative voice stopped Peter in his tracks.

"Yes Walter…" Peter answered without flinching. He turned back, facing Walter who was half wrapped around the hotel door.

"You like her don't you son?"

"What are you talking about Walter?"

"Olivia, you like her?"

"Of course I like Agent Dunham, Walter. We work together, remember? I don't want my life to turn into a miserable hell and it would be if I did not. I do like her," he shrugged.

"Right, right, that's right."

"Ok."

Walter was hesitating.

"Is that all?"

"Can I have an ice-cream soda instead, with French fries and a T-bone steak?"

"Obviously Walter, no problem, I'll take care of it. Can you just go upstairs now?"

"Yes, yes… and barbecue sauce?"

Peter nodded. He had a gentle smile on his face. Walter eventually disappeared from his view. He waited an extra thirty seconds, expecting an encore but the lights went on in their bedroom. He sighed and turned back to Olivia Dunham. She saw him walking her way and tilted her head, a deep frown on her forehead. He reached her and waited. Her eyebrows rising to a new level of interrogation, "Need anything?" she mouthed.

He placed a light hand on her shoulder. "We need to talk" he whispered to her ear.

"We need to talk?" she whispered back, jerking away from him.

"We need to talk," he nodded shoving his hands deep inside his pockets. Now he was the one frowning. He was used to touching people. He craved contact, needed connection. It was really freezing, he thought. What was he doing? They ought to have this conversation inside.

"Ok," she finally said, pouting her mouth, a smile finally reaching her eyes, "talk to you later Charlie." And she hung up.

"Just to make sure, I'm part of this project now, am I?" he said leaning slightly towards her. No touching.

"Absolutely Peter, you definitely are." Her eyes were wide and intent.

"And Walter has proven he is a true asset, hasn't he?" he pushed.

"He has," she answered cautiously, her eyes squinted.

"And 'they' won't let us down, will 'they'?"

"… No, whoever are the 'they' I think you're referring to. Why? Peter, what is it that you want?"

"I need a room."

"You need a room?"

"I need a room."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand…" she shook her head and frowned harder.

"I need a place of my own, a flat, a house, a mansion, a log cabin, a tent, a boat…"

"I get it. You don't want to stay at the hotel."

"No. I don't. I can't take it any longer. Do you know that I have to sleep in the bathtub?"

"Don't… don't you have a bed?"

"I have a… couch?"

"_But_, I sense a _but_," she smiled, tugging her hair behind her left ear.

"It seems that Walter prefers to sleep or rather not sleep in the closet."

"I fail to see your point. Even in a… house, he might choose to sleep in a closet."

"The closet is right next to my couch."

"I see."

"No you don't. I can't let him sleep in a closet can I?"

"Of course you cannot."

"And when he can't sleep and locks himself inside the closet, he wakes me up. E-ve-ry single time. And once I know he's inside…"

"… the closet, you can't let him sleep in there."

"Exactly."

"You want a place big enough so that you can get some sleep away from Walter."

"Yes. Do you know that he sings too? And he counts. Pi. To the umpteenth digit. Backwards. It freaks me out."

"Why? Because you can do it only the other way round?" she teased him.

"Liv, please? Pretty please?" He put his best puppy look on.

"I'll see what I can do, Peter."

"Thank you." He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Anything else?"

"Is it possible to get a house with a Jacuzzi?"

Her eyebrow rocketed.

"No, maybe not," he smiled.

"I'll do my best."

"Well, thank you." He did not budge.

"I have the feeling there's something else," she hesitated.

"Walter is hungry."

"Again? I thought he had some Chinese delivered at the lab."

"Yes, he had."

"Oh…" she seemed to toy with the information and finally smiled, her mouth twitching. "What do you want me to do? I can't cook…" she trailed.

He could not believe what she just said. "I can," he offered. "Do you have some tomatoes, green pepper and parmesan or gorgonzola? And garlic… Probably some thyme and olive oil too I guess."

"You're actually saying that if I can get my hands on pasta, you are volunteering to make us dinner?"

"Only if you don't mind…"

She stared at him thoughtfully. "… Ok."

"Ok?" He heard the high pitch in his voice but he didn't care.

"Yes."

"I'll get Walter. We will stop to buy a bottle of Chianti on our way to your place. Maybe we could sleep over?"

She gave him a stern stare.

"Maybe not. I'll get Walter."

"You do that."

She watched him run back to the hotel and dialled Charlie's number.

"Charlie? Olivia. Have you eaten yet? What about some home made meal at my place, see, in thirty minutes?" It was an extraordinary event in the life of a FBI agent to have time for home cooking, a privilege indeed. "You bring dessert."

She was only hoping it was not a recipe for disaster to have Peter roam her kitchen and her life.

-o-

_So, what do you think?_


End file.
